Colorful Buddha

3 Brand Spankin' New Poems


What I Heard Playing on the Radiance of Laughter

You might momentarily mistake yourself as habit-forming
And although it's true
That your atoms hold your self together

As reliable as rain, as consistent as a heartbeat,
The fact remains that you will always be an enigma
So long as you continue to be astounded
And have inner ears attuned to a radar of wonder.

You're fated to become each posture
Of stance and instance, of longitude and latitude
Along the ennobled road of complaints
And also ecstasy
Since love will certainly find you

However you resist.

Just as you are anointed
To release each destructive habit
In the unending grace of an unflappable sun,
Given that the last time I looked,
Not a single archangel punched a time card.


All your remembrances are incumbent
To the leasing offices of a single moment
When you're cordially invited
To try-out this silken chrysalis tuxedo
Upon this real estate of consciousness
Since it is here

That you're finally granted easement
By the sheer audacity of your willingness
To remain in utmost, wholehearted passion

Knowing at last that no one
Can successfully deceive you again,
Even as you sleep

With yourself by night, yet ultimately
Cannot lie to yourself by day.

You have never not known
That this life is a litmus test
To admit out loud what is easier to deny!

Nor can any poet ever
Pull a shiny skein of wool
Over your smiling and sheepish eyes:

Love always was
And is, that easy.

It is resistance that is hard.


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to honor

At the Edge of Longing

If the body be your jailer
Then consciousness is freedom's key.

A time will arise
When even your enemy will be your beloved
And the entire Universe your lover
As no excuses will be further required
To post any earthly bonds.

I have no care for your former lovers,
Only that you care for me. At this ethereal edge
My longing for you remains unchanged,
A precipice of vulnerability
Where I constantly rediscover you
At the paradox of all your former selves
You quite easily recall.

You're so calming to my psyche
Even as ash from the molten sun
Circles irises of memories
From the blackboard of hot-blooded time
Where I witness eons of every possible scene
As God's chalk remains as ever new.

Even as I love you now, I find you there

In a rocking chair knitting skeins and skins of karma
Cool as a crone, as focused as a midship-wife

As tantalizing oceans of friendship
Immerse former loves in your cooling liquid drench
And severe burns from angers' trenches are dissolved
As we roil and body surf, our thirst
For life's inclusion sated at last
Among fractals of unresolved mysteries of affection.

Praise the highest heavens
That endless longing, however hidden
Can never fully be defined
Save for a lasting loyalty of forgiveness

Which never needs
To sit in any throne of fated judgment

Since if it be criticism you entertain,
This can never be fair melody for love.

Enter now my darling into my surrendered eyes
And merge with electric circuitry
To ease these impassioned desires
Where the door hasn't once
Been shut to your impressive gifts. A trailblazing light

Of honesty most naked and direct
Slices through Hell's densest damnation
Revealing a talent show of celestial music
So lovely as to cause unending tears
To be cleansed each earthly time
Lasting disappointment and hardship were once felt.

Would that I could sing
Struggles to healing slumbers
With a lullaby of intent. What's more —
You cannot imagine the taste of the future —
Shouldn't yet perceive the contentment of immortality —
Won't fathom lasting happiness until vexation is gone —

To honor that time of your final liberation
Here's a small sharp steel shovel
To pierce the bloodied armor of my longing
And dig, as deep as possible
Into a kernel of my heart and its soiled understanding
To plant red gladiolas
And morning glories reaching for the sun.



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poem 3 angel

In Scars You Shall Shine Like a Diamond

How am I to recognize your beauty among billions of others
If not for your scars?

And if I fleetingly glimpse
Your appearance without the shrapnel of your wounds,
How can you be distinguished from every other soul

Hitchhiking in eternity's eye?

It's far less the glorious traits as a child of the universe
Which make you memorable

Than places marked to your ethereal visage
When the going's rough and brutal

And it's in these doorways of punctures and rip tides
That your wings, even when torn, battered and bruised

Are strengthened.

I'm no fan of perilous flight,
Of Icarus playing hopscotch,
Of the Venus de Milo opening a tanning salon,
Or Ariadne moonlighting for the Auto Club.

So inform me,
Once you've ascended to the highest heaven,
Would you rather have felt too deeply, Or not at all?

Choose the path of safety, or that of awakening

Remembering that experience either way is often bittersweet.

I see you now,
Shining as a beam of burning light
Upon icy fjords of infinite time —

A laser's razor blast of blinding brilliance
Upon the frozen black abyss of unblinking space —

And were it not for your spark of Divine madness,
You'd be like all the rest —

Absolutely pure and absolutely boring.

It's never too late to surrender to insight
And just this once

Remove shrouds of sadness from closets
And send them to the dry cleaner's —

Iron, starch and perfume each everlasting regret

And should your pain no longer fit, ditch it.

Leave it by the back door
For the maid of the morrow.

I continue to believe
In scars and their most curious gladness
Which whittle each stubborn facet
Into timeless jewels

Singing of diamonds still to be recognized
In tides of endless knowing.

Given a lifetime of capricious pain,
It's far better to wake up
Than remain stumbling in ruses of sleep.

The stubbornness of white-knuckled bruises
Secure headwinds of soulful feet
Towards a bridge of compassion
To better approach miracles by winged and sentient gates —

And as long as you're here
Pull up a seat at this Seder
To wait for Elijah and consciousness.

Here's horseradish
And a goblet, brimful of tears
For every person who's ever wept

And in the over-stuffed midst of humanity's ongoing tragedies

Only one thing is truly asked of you
To become alive and well —

To fully participate, and most of all
To nourish nestlings of your passion.

Whether you like it or not, you will become complete.
Completely fragmented —
Or completely whole. It has ever come down

To one simple paradox, to be silenced
Or to sing. So much of heaven and hell
Derives from cherished recipes —

And in this remarkably rooted cloister where you dwell,
We will recognize your greatness
In this unruly garden of Creation —

Completely unmistakable.

Absolutely imperfect.

And forever radiant.



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